one week

Just a quickie today. It's been a week since I let my elder daughter throw my cigarette packs in the trash. My sense of smell is returning, but thanks to nicotine replacement I'm not a total bitch. YAY ME!

Snow school

It's snowing.

For most people this is something they're either used to or not. I am and I'm not. It's been YEARS since I was faced with snow. Snow and children? Never before. Today is a sno-school day. Translation? No school for my kiddies due to there being a small amound of frozen white stuff not only ON the roads/ground etc but still falling from the sky. We've experienced a few days of snow before this one. One day it was good enough to make a snow person out of.

There is something magic about the big fat dancing flakes Something especially strange and amazing about ground covered with what is, esentially, water. That what would otherwise be rain can look like magic, like fairy dust. But damn, it's cold.

I've mentioned before that I am a very very spoilt desert rat. The last 9 years of my life were spent in Tucson, Arizona. IT snows on the mountains occasionally. Every 5 years or so the snow even touches ground. It very very rarely drops below freezing during th day there.

Here? The temperatures have been between 30 and 18 for over a week. The other day it was no joke 8 degrees outside. I didn't even know that was a temperature. Well, okay I knew- lbut experiencing it? No thanks.

I am not fond of being cold. I love the way my girls look bundled in layers of clothing. I love my gorgous pale winter skin. I'm lucky enough to be blessed with the sort of skin that looks nice pale and cold flushed. The girls are as well. We're all so beautiful. And COLD! My electric bill is shockingly high. I'm careful about what lights I leave on. Careful not to CRANK up the heater, despite being so tempted. But the result of heating a house from well below freezing to livable is a higher then usual electric bill.

We can handle it, I'm paying it later then I usually do this month- due to being stupider then usual with my spending last month. I'd blame Christmas, but really it was mostly me.

I'm not fond of the lack of sunshine. I had too MUCH bright and hot in the desert. NOT enough sun here. It's amazing how a place this green manages to freeze every year and yet come back. Some of the grass under that thin layer of white is STILL green. I havn't seen the sun more then a few times the last few months and the grass manages to stay green. It's surreal.

Any way! This morning I displayed an amazing moment of good parent/bad parent quandry. My younger daughter wanted so bad to go play in the snow. How can I deny the eager joy of fresh snow? Isn't that part of the reason I dragged these poor children cross country? I might be fighting the season but younger daughter wants to embrace it in all it's icy white glory. So. I bundle her up. two (in places three) layers. gloves, socks, snow boots. I untape the back door (I duct taped the bottom to block an especially cold leaky draft.) and I let her out. I then watch- from inside- out the window thats set in the door. I watch from my nice warm indoors while my sweet baby gets ice in her gloves, catches flakes on her freakishly long tongue and throws fistfulls of snow in the air just to watch it fall.

I talk her into coming in after a while, when the snow that got under her gloves starts to melt make make her hands cold and wet. And the quandry begins. I SHOULD have gone out with her. I still can. We can go out and play. It's not deep enough for proper snow men or flapping our arms to make angels It's not deep enough to jump around in. But there's enough of it liing about and falling to play., a little. It's just so COLD! And WET and eeeww!

Bad mommy? I don't know. I know I'm going to "man" up put on layers and go try to drive in it later. I need orange juice. Perhaps driving in snow (for the first time, EVER) will be the grown up equivalent of playing in it?

another barely edited rambling shambling mess of a post

I am a geek, a fan girl, and a lonesome randy perv.
I have the hots for:
Two captins: Malcolm Reynolds and cap'n Jack Harkness.
Two doctors: Tennent as Doctor Who and Dr. Horrible.
One vampire (And only one, EVER) Spike.
One pod cast editors voice.
Also: A goodly portion of the cast of Criminal minds makes me squee most especially the lanky brainy boy and the very gorgous curvy computer geek girl.
I seem to have a "thing" for people who are written for girls like me. Which makes sense. Whenever I do info gathering on the players/people behind of these wonderful written folks I'm often dissapinted they don't match up. But that's to be expected. fiction is made pretty for people like me. People who live in fantasy and eat it up with a spoon. There are many a book persona I've loved/lusted after as well- but right now, mostly due to a very lonesome libido, the boob tube has me in it's grip.
The last of the David Tennent Dr. Who episodes was on Sat. And both my darling teenaged daughter and I were in tears over the loss of our (so far) favorite doctor. They always say you love your first the best- but who couldn't love Tennent as the Doctor at least a little? Funny, cute, long and lean, and he had really great hair.
Re-watching all the BTVS episodes with her, 'cause she apparently loves them so. We've reached Once more with feeling and she, like me is deeplyu enamored with Spike. His sweetness, his broken spirit, tempered by his moods. His sadisum a little later in isn't so great, and I have a feeling we're going to have to do a bit of "Skipping" more so then we already have with the adult stuff. Plus fun mother daughter chats about how a bad boy is tre' sexy but not, in the long run, any good any good at all. *Sigh* when did entertainment have to get so learnie?
Especially when all I want to do is sdrool over those gorgous cheekbones, that slim firm frame.. oh gawds that gorgous droolworthy lickable.. er.. hehe. ANYWAY
I'm also so lonesome. I've only managed to make one non-digital friend out here in the big bad "Real" world. And.. she's temporary. She's not wholly my friend nor am I wholly hers. Wer're filler for each other. She has so MANY MANY people who love and adore her- while I have only a small select few. She's gregarious where I'm generally quiet (except when I'm not). She knows how to say the right thing where I seem to always have one foot or another somewhere in the vicinity of my mouth. And yet I like her, I'd like to know her better. Waht's more I think she feels the same for me, but we hold back. I can only guess why she'd hld back with me. But I know EXACTLY why I hold back with her. Want a list? too bad! My blog!
1. I've become shy. My social graces are lacking.
2. I know I'm awkward. I giggle when I'm nervous, I twitch and I make other nervous gestures that put people off- and I know this unsettles folks so I try to stay away
3. She's gorgous and I'm afraid I'll become attracted to her.
4. She's my age, and gregarious. My friends have up to this point been older or younger. It's strange knowing someone my own age who is as outgoing as my 20 something friends were in the past
5. I'm no good at friendmaking. I've become rusty at it. I HAVE a best friend. He's just really really far away right now.
6. I'm not used to being friends with women. Almost all of my better past friendships have been with men of some sort or another. They're easier to understand then women. We;re a complicated lot.
7. Have I mentioned that she's gorgous?

So there's my list.
anyway. I need food, a tylenol and something to help me get past my ciggie craving. HAve I mentioned that I quit smoking?

Dreaming

Will he ever completely leave my dreams? Has he come to represent something to my subconscious?? It seems so wrong on so many levels. This beautiful man child I keep dreaming of. A conglomeration of my best friend of teenage years and every man I've every lusted after since. None of them even remotely resembling my husband. He comforts me, this dream boy toy. We often nearly have sex, but get distracted along the way. He holds me, curled along his side like a child. He's so big in my dreams, taller then he ever was in "life" better built. But that's because he has become something perfect, something unattainable. Am I trying to get in touch with the part of myself that he represents? Is the near sex supposed to represent something? I have long since recovered from my teenage crush on this particular man. He's grown into someone I no longer know. And that's fine- that's the way life should be. In my waking world the only man I want to hold me is my husband. But in my dreaming life? This is the boy I dream of. Perfect, forever frozen at a perfect age somewhere between 18 and 20 something he is far more gorgeous then his analog. Far more brilliant, far more comforting than ANY man I've ever known.
I just wish I knew what it meant. Why must he turn up in so many of my dreams? Why? It seems perverse and wrong on so many levels! Can't I make a copy of my husband to play with in slumber? Apparently he only turns up when I'm battling demons and monsters, standing at my back. Good to know my Beloved has my back- but why can't I dream hand holding, snuggling, and (instead of near sex) full glorious complete sexual encounters? No- apparently I get my dream man. This strange conglomeration of someone I've grown apart from and every damn man I ever truly lusted after. Pale of skin, dark of hair, blue of eye. Build like a god, and strong and sensitive and stunningly brilliant. Oh dear I'm drooling picturing him. damn it.

Druuunk

Opps. After a long and fucking cold day I decided to seek solace in intoxication. I am enjoying both being an "easy date" at 2 shots being enough to make me giddy and the freedom of emotion it grants me. Now mind you blogging while drunk is probably about as smart as drunk dialing your friend (humm I wonder what time it is in California...) but I'm finally feeling free enough to allow myself to feel. I've had a seriously suck ass December. SO! Logic be damned - grammer and spelling can fuck thermselves. Cursing? I'm sorry my one lonely follower I will be swearing up a storm. I enjoy cursing. Cussing is fucking fun. So like it or lick it. I'm fuckinjg cussing.

I cried. I spoke to my husband all of twice on the phone and I got to see some of my amazingly huge extended family at the "event" Viewing, rosary, "proper" funeral, eulagies, bariel the whole works. WOW! First off! Save my family the trouble. All that hoopla is kinda boring. The best p[art of being there was the chance to re connect. The chance to grieve with my extended family, the chance to remember Nonnie as she deserved. All the pomp and citrcumstance was awful. The only good part was the eulogies my dad and his brothers shared. I'd like people to share stories of my life. I'd like them to get royally drunk and have a good time. I DO NOT WANT any of this bu;;shit scary cerimony. I kno9w it's a comfort for the few reliugiously minded. But c'mon!!!

I did enjoy drinking Beilys and cocunt rum outside the viewing to numb the shock of seeing my grandmothers empty shell. But..but.. but...


Goog god there's such a macabe aspect to viewing the dead body of someone you loved someone you knew someone who once flipped you off over a bill.

Yeah. I'd prefer to share happy stories, sad stories. To get rollicking rocking drunk and have a time with family I havn't seen since forever. But;. It was worth it. Worth the fear factor. To comfort Mary, to hug people I havn';t seen since forever (Tommys funeral? A random Thanksgiving?) To remember my str54ong roots, my amazing ties. To realize that part of the reason I go through so much for MY family and MY husband is the strong values passed down a generation from this amazing strong woman. This weak empty shell- I'd have been better off not seeing. I'd rather remember. Ash me oh -please god ash me my family.

Yeah I should quit ranting now!!

Grief

Grief is an imbecile. It's a drunken stumbling moron. I can't seem to pin it down. There are brief flashes where I can't breathe, can't think too numb or overwhelmed to be sensible. Then I'm giddy with a survivors enthusiasm, smelling the air anew, feeling the warmth of a stray sunbeam. I Will miss her, oh how I will. My Nonnie, my grandma. She was tough and quiet. Funny and strong. She went out like a flickering candle weaker and weaker until at last her light was extinguished. A life fully led. A ride taken with hands in the air screaming all the way down. And yet I ache. I hurt. Is it the dilemma of the religiously lost? Is it the discomfort at being relieved for another brief excuse to see my HUGE extended family all in one place - even if they're crying and distraught? I'm trapped in the sludge of some stage of grief I can't identify. Grief, that flickering will-o wisp. Dancing where I can't quite get a hold of it. I'd like to have a good cry, to shake my impotent fists at the skies- but I haven't. And I don't know when/if I will. It's too soon too sharp, too fresh. I'm still gasping still aching from the blow. What's next? What's next?

hybernate?

Ah Fall. Ah winter. Already my toes are tingeling. I've caught my first cold. The desperate fridged promise of weather to come frosts my window sheild. Spoilt desert rat, the promise of color and change lured me from the dusty embrace of a place that I never wanted to call home. The colors are amazing- green, red,brown. The change is new and exciting. The parents and extended family I call home are overbearing at close range but once I've run I find myself glancing back. Over sholder wishing they'd call me back, back home. It's not like I didn't know what I was getting into. This half of the family is so sharp, so harsh so distant. How the person I love can have not only lived with this but warmed to a wonderful person is beyond my sensibilities. There is nothing in me that wants to hold the nettles of his family tree. My children sometimes cry. Daddy gone in a forign land for a job they can't, don't, won't comprehend. The other Grandma either too distant or FAR too close. So sharp and harsh trying to love with her strange smother.
I dread the ice the white the cold. The wind that blasts into the bones. But I wish for snow angles, snow men, and that magical glimmer of frozen morning so I've come to a place that's as close to a forign land a I can manage just yet. For color, for change, for the very same winder I dread.